


The Dragon Hunters

by renplusrick



Category: no fandom applies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renplusrick/pseuds/renplusrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>In a world almost completely different from ours, a girl wakes up on a field. Around her, there are seven people walking, and hundreds of people lie dead on the ground. The girl has no idea what happened, nor does she remember anything from before waking up; no name, no family, no home. Nothing.<br/>She tries to escape, when she sees teenagers are being taken captive. A boy named Elijah and the girl try to escape. He succeeds, but the girl is shot and is taken.<br/>She is given the name Erin by her captivator. Erin and the boy, Odarion, are accidentally further away from his superiors than they expected, so he decides they have to walk to a place called the Camp.<br/>Once there, Erin realizes she is not normal. She know things she shouldn't and when strange things start to occur, things like shoes which burst into flames and food which jumps spontaneously into people's faces, she knows she is more in danger than ever before. </p><p>Join Erin and Odarion on their search for the truth about their past, present and future in The Dragon Hunters!<br/>I suck majorly at writing summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One – The Shot

C H A P T E R O N E

 

T H E S H O T

 

 

I try to feel something, anything. My senses are working, even though I have no idea what is going on–I am just there, not really there, not really thinking, just breathing. Alive.

Am I? I'm not sure.

 

 

Noises. Faint at first, but later on, they grow louder and clearer. My ears are ringing.

 

A gruff, male voice is speaking. “...want the strong ones.” There is a scream, high and panicky.

“Good enough?” asks another male–this one younger, his voice less gruff. He must be in his late teens, I assume.

Another scream. Cracking sounds. Panting.

“Nah. Ol– Hey! Don't let that one escape!” a woman yells loudly. I have no idea who they are, but then again, I don't even know who I am.

 

Who am I?

 

I don't know.

 

Where am I then? What is going on? Why don't I remember anything?

 

My mind goes blank.

 

I try to open my eyes–I hadn't even noticed they were closed, or that I had eyes to begin with, but something in my head tells me to open them. It doesn't work. It is still dark.

 

Darkness. Calling me. I fight the tugging feeling in the back of my head. It tries to pull me down, into a sleep, but I know I am not tired.

 

Who am I? Where am I? What's happening?

 

“Olvian! Let's go, we have all the good ones, c'mon, we gotta leave this place before Julian blows us up!” the woman says. Blows us up? What the heck?

 

I try to open my eyes, to see what's going on around me, but I can't.

 

I need to open them, I need to move, get up and run, after them. They have to help me. I need help.

 

I hear wind, I can feel it brush over me, as someone or something steps over me, the cracking, crunching sound telling me it's a person walking.

 

I want to open my mouth, to scream for help, but it's another futile attempt.

 

The darkness calls again, this time louder, the voiceless sound screaming a name I can't hear, even though I know it whispers my name in my ear. I'm going mad. A part of me wants to give in and leave wherever I am now, to a better place maybe, however, there is a smaller part of me, fighting for control, pushing the thought of giving in away to the back of my mind. I must live. I must survive.

 

My eyelids twitch.

 

Another pair of footsteps are coming closer. Again, my attempt to open my mouth to scream is useless, so I can only hope they, whoever they are, find me and save me. They have to.

 

The cracking sound becomes even louder, the sound of something broken ringing in my ears. I feel the corner of my mouth lift slightly, and even though it almost instantly drops again, like it never happened, I feel euphoria rise inside of me, as if I have just done something what seemed impossible before.

 

“Hey, wait! Look! Over here!” the boy calls from right next to me. My euphoria grows. They have found me. They are going to save me. I am saved. Breathing out in relief, my eyes open. I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness around me. There are tiny, white spots, far above me. Stars, my mind explains, they are stars. You are outside.

 

Where am I? And where is the boy from before? The smell of something burned fills my nose, the crackle of several fires are audible around me. What's happening?

 

I see something move, in the corner of my left eye, but my neck refuses to move when I tell it to. I can only hope they see my open eyes, that they will see me, help me, save me.

 

The woman steps over my body, walking out of my sights without even the slightest glance in my way.

 

The happy feeling sinks deep inside of me, all hope is lost, gone, taken away with the crunching footsteps of the woman. I am not going to be saved. I am lost. I am going to die.

 

Tears well up in my eyes, but I can't wipe them away with my hands, so all I can do is blink repetitively, forcing them away.

 

I will not cry as I die. I won't die a coward. Cowards cry. I won't.

 

Someone sighs. It is the woman. “This one–” I hear a muffled sound, as if someone kicked something soft– “is dead already. Let's go.”

 

They are not here to help people, I realize suddenly. They came her for something else. “Olvian! Let's go, we have all the good ones, c'mon, we gotta leave this place before Julian blows us up!” the woman said.She is here to kidnap us?

 

But who am I then? And why are they doing this to us? And who is ´us' actually?

 

If they find me, I'm one of the screaming kids–the kidnapped kids. They will kill me. But I want to live, I want to survive this. I must not be seen, yet I have to escape. They are going to blow this place up, wherever I am. I will be dead when that happens. I must not attract attention as I escape. Easier said then done, my mind says, you can't even move. The woman starts to walk away with a boy with short, brown hair. His grey shirt is covered in blood. He looks my way, right into my eyes, his eyes full of fear. He closes them for a second, and when he opens them, they stand no longer full of fear, but now he has something hopeful in them, like he thought all was lost before, and now not anymore.

I decide to escape for him. He may not have made it free, but I can, and I will.

 

The boy mutters something under his breath, I cannot hear what he said, not that it was something intelligent, I expect. My head jerks to the side as I give another attempt to move. Pain shoots through me like a struck of lightning, making my head throb. I stifle a wince. I must not get noticed.

 

My whole body starts to shake violently, as the pain grows. A groan escapes my lips.

 

The woman is too far away, since she doesn't start yelling at the boy immediately. However, he does notice the sound I made, and looks my way. I freeze, pinch my eyes closed in an attempt to play dead.

I hear him walk over the broken glass I saw seconds ago, his heavy boots breaking them in even smaller pieces than they were before. I count the steps he takes. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Ele– the footsteps come to a halt.

 

How many steps wold it take him to stand beside me? How many would it take, for him to notice my chest is moving up and down as I breathe? I hold my breath. My ears hear the soft, quiet sound of clothing brushing against more clothing. The boy is crouching.

 

His breath is inches from my face. I can feel the air leave his lungs next to my right ear, breezing against it steadily.

 

Suddenly, I hear him stand up. My lungs ache for fresh air, but I know I can't breathe yet. The sound of something scraping across the floor enters my ears, although it does not sound like he is walking away, leaving me to die here.

 

Out of nowhere, his foot comes in contact with the side of my lungs, knocking me over with an enormous force. A loud, painful wheeze escapes from my lips as I gasp for air. My lungs ache, the burning sensation of fresh air, filling them is painful. I try to move, but discover my body useless, paralyzed by the horrible pain in my head and side. Glass is digging into my back, my stomach, everywhere. It hurts. It hurts. I must not give up. Tears spring into my eyes, but I squeeze them tightly shut, so that I can feel them roll down my face. I will not die a coward. I will not.

 

The boy's mouth almost touches my right ear as he leans over me. “Good try,” he whispers quietly, his warm breath fanning my face. My eyes fly open at the same time a groan–my groan–fills the silent air around us as he grabs my upper arms, yanking me up forcefully. “But not good enough.” He turns his head and yells, “CAROL! I FOUND ONE!”

 

The woman–Carol–spins on her heels, pushes the boy toward the older man, who is too far away from me to see any details of him, before marching our way. She is a tall woman, with long, almost pin-straight, strawberry blonde hair, which is pulled up into a ponytail on the back of her head. I was right, there are several fires around us, burning on the leftover of something unrecognizable. She holds a flashlight in one of her hands, with long, thin fingers, shining into my face. I narrow my eyes at the blinding light, struggling against my captivator.

 

“Let me go,” I hiss angrily, “I did nothing wrong.”

Carol lowers the light, angling her head to one side, watching me with curious eyes. I stare straight into them, anger rising inside me as she smiles at the boy behind me. “She's not much, Olvian, but we will decide on her later, maybe Jargen knows what to do with her. We have to go now, Julian wants to let his precious explosives go off.” She rolls her eyes. “He behaves like a child sometimes, really.” Olvian scoffs. “Sometimes? You mean always.” His voice sounds amused, light, almost cheerful, like he did not just see all those dead people, hear some of them scream for help, or did not just take me hostage. It would almost look like this is an everyday thing for him, like it's his job.

 

A shrill scream fills the air in my ears. We all snap our heads to look into the direction of where the sound came from, to see the older man having some trouble with restraining two teenagers, a girl and the brown-haired boy from before. “Carola, some help here please! Damn kids–”

 

“Let. Me. Go!” The girl trashes in the arms of the man, trying to break free. The boy just stands there, frozen on the spot, looking over to something behind me. His expression tells me whatever it is, it is not something he likes.

 

“Can't we just shoot her already?” Olvian says. I freeze. The way he said the sentence, those words, so casually, scares me more than anything. I was right. He does this on a regular basis. He is used to seeing people get shot, used to seeing people die in front of his eyes.

 

I pity him, crazy, I know, to pity your kidnapper, but I do. He can't be more than what? Twenty? Nineteen? Wow. Nineteen and already seen death enough times to be able to sound so casual about it.

 

I don't think I will ever be able to sound like that.

 

“No, she's a girl, we don't have that much girls,” says Carol, sighing deeply. “We need them.” I now notice the bags under her eyes, and the tired expression on her face, as she jogs toward the man to help him out.

 

Why would they need girls?

 

Understanding these people is going to be hard, escaping even harder.

 

I watch Carol grab the girl, who aims one last kick, right into the man's manhood. The man bents over, falling on the ground, groaning in pain. The brown-haired boy is free from his grasp. The boy's eyes meet mine, and he nods. He starts running toward me and Olvian, who tightens his grip on me the closer the boy comes.

 

“Don't even think about it, boy,” Olvian spits, drawing a gun from under his waistband. “I will shoot you both.” I jump slightly as something cold touches my right temple.

 

“Elijah! No!” screams the girl desperately, “No!”

 

The gun clicks, the bullet ready to be fired. Ready to be fired into my head.

 

From the corner of my eye, I see a guy, who is absurdly tall, running to us. “Why is it taking so–oh. Dammit!” he curses, swinging his gun from his shoulder. He stops running to aim.

 

“No!” I shriek, lunging forward, towards Elijah. Why I do it, I don't know, but all I could think about was his body, falling to the ground, blood seeping from a hole in his head. No, I think, I can't let that happen.

 

Tears blur my vision, as I step in front of him. It's then that I realize I have freed myself from Olvian, who only seconds ago, pushed the barrel of a gun against my head. Never have I been so scared for my life, I am sure–because even though I don't even know who I am, or my name, I just know that I've never experienced something like this.

 

“Control your girl Olvian!” bellows Carol. She pulls something small out of her back-pocket, presses on it and pushes the small, square thing against the back of the girl's neck. The second the blue thing comes in contact with the exposed skin, the girl drops to the ground with a yelp of pain, paralyzed. Her eyes stare empty toward the star-streaked sky.

 

I grab Elijah's hand and start pulling him with me as I make a run for it. Within three seconds, I hear Carol shout, “Shoot him! Not her!”, then a gunshot, piercing through the air. I gasp, as something scrapes the flesh of my left thigh, stumble over my own feet, trip and fall, face-first into the ground.

The smell of dead grass, mixed with the earthy scent of a forest fills my nostrils. I push myself up with my hands, but collapse immediately when I take a step forward.

 

“Elijah!” I yell at him, getting up on my feet again, the pain shooting through me. “Run!” He seems to hesitate, but when someone wraps his arms around my waist, he jumps into some bushes and he's gone.

 

Shots, a lot of them, cut through the silence of the forest. It is Olvian who caught up with us, and the one who took hold of me before shooting at the bushes where Elijah disappeared into.

 

It is Olvian who pulls me down, as he falls to the ground, panting, the gun's end pushed into the back of my neck. “You...” he wheezes, gasping for air, “Are one hell of a runner, you sneaky bitch, and I meant that as a compliment.”

 

Is this guy for real? I just escaped from him and his people–or so I tried–and one of his hostages just freaking escaped because of me, and what does he do? Complements me? This shit is getting crazier by the second.

 

I grit my teeth, turning my face away from him to look at my leg. My jeans are torn there, where it hurts the most. It's a wound, and it's bleeding. I touch it, wincing as I prod the injured flesh. Olvian takes my hand, keeping it away from the red flesh as he takes a careful look at it. I don't know why he does that, but I can only hope he won't make the pain any worse than it already is. “Shit,” he curses, wiping away some sweat from his forehead with the hand that holds the gun.

 

“Julian hit the wrong target. Again.” He sighs. “Oh well, at least you're not dead, like the last one.” He grabs the torn fabric of my jeans and tears it apart. I scream in pain, as his fingers brush over the hole in my leg. He winces. I screamed in his ear. I don't care if I did, he is the one who captured me, after all.

 

“Wh-what are you doing?” I ask, as he pulls the now ripped-off part of my jeans from my leg. “Why do this when you're going to kill me anyway?”

 

He gives me a flat look. “I'm not going to kill you,” he says, continuing, “at least not yet.”

 

“I … I don't understand...” I trail off, unsure what to say. I close my mouth and stare at the wound.

 

“Sure you don't. I didn't understand either, when...” He drops his head. “Never mind that.” He rips a piece of fabric off, binds it around my leg, tightly. I shoot him a quizzical look.

 

“It'll stop the bleeding,” he says. “For now.” He gets up, brushes the dirt off his sweat pants and looks around.

 

“We're further away from the Camp than I expected.”

 

“So?”

 

“So–we'll have to sleep outside tonight.” He spins around to face me. “I hope you're not afraid of the dark? Or spiders? Or–”

 

“–I hope you're not afraid of sleeping alone in a forest. At night. With spiders.”

 

Olvian grins at me. “Alone? Oh no, don't think so.” He steps in front of me, puts his arms under my armpits, heaving me up.

 

“You already escaped once, I'm not going to let that happen again. So you and I–we will be sleeping together.” He laughs at his own joke. “Come on, I'm not that bad!”

 

“I hate you,” I say. “I'm serious, Olvian.” When he hears his name, an odd, almost hurt expression covers his face, wiping away the grin instantly. “Don't call me that,” he snaps, throwing me over his shoulder.

 

“Ow! That hurt asshole! It's your name, right? I can say your name.” I know that going all smartypants on his ass isn't the smartest thing to do right now, but it is the only way of keeping myself from thinking about the horrible pain in my leg, or the throbbing in my head. It's a distraction, to keep me alive. I must survive this. I have to live.

 

“No, it's not and you can't. You probably don't even know what it means.” Why are they all so cryptic? I don't get why girls can't be shot, as Carol said, or why we are all hunted down and captured. Who are these people? What are they doing to us, with us? My head spins from all the questions that bubble up in my head like ticking bombs, who explode as I think about them. I must calm down. Focus, I tell myself, focus.

 

Olvian–or whatever his name is–suddenly turns around, smacking my head against his rock-hard back.

“Ow! Watch it, will you!” I narrow my eyes at him, even though he can't see my face.

“We're being followed,” he whispers. When I open my mouth to scream bloody murder, he continues; “And before you scream, the people who live here are dangerous. They'd love to kill us, so shut up.”

 

The forest is silent as we–he–walks. His footsteps are almost soundless. Sometimes he steps on a twig, and snaps it unintentionally, quietly cursing himself for making a sound. When I woke up earlier, the sky had been full of stars, the sun long gone, but the fires lit up the burned-down place I found myself in. Now, however, my view only consists of darkness, and the occasional glimpse of his back, butt and legs.

 

Interesting, I know.

 

The silence makes it hard for me to distract myself from the pain in my limbs. The shot-wound has stopped bleeding almost entirely, according to what's-his-name. I let my thoughts wander off to the main question, the question that bothers me the most; who am I?

 

Why can't I remember who I am, not even a name, anything? There has to be something I remember, right? I close my eyes, imagining my life to be a book. Visualizing it makes it easier for me to come up with a solution, an answer to my questions.

 

It is a thick, dark, reddish book, with golden hinges and other golden decorations. It has a strange smell to it, it seems as if it has been set on fire at some point, but never burned down. The cover is mostly red, the shade of red I saw after I was shot, blood-red. Fire-red, my mind corrects me. But it is not all fire. In the center, there is a circle. It shines, as I imagine a candle throwing light on it. The circle is bronze. I do not know what the circle means, although it means something. It represents something, it just has to. When my fingers brush over the cover, the book feels warm. How can a book possibly feel warm? Then, I let my fingers touch the brown circle, which immediately lights up so brightly, I have to squeeze my eyes shut.

 

 

When I open them again, the book is gone and I'm somewhere else, strapped against a tree. My back aches, my head is throbbing furiously, and my leg, well, don't let me get started to that one, as my stomach makes the oddest grumbling noises. I moan, letting my head smack against the tree. How am I going to get out of here? I look down onto my hands, which are bound together by rope. I have to get rid of those, and fast. Closing my eyes, I start to wriggle, trying to get away from the tree.

 

A sudden twinge of pain in my forehead makes my eyes fly open. I stare right into the eyes of someone else, bright, blue ones, boring into mine. I don't know which eye-color I have.

 

I spit into his face angrily. “Un-rope me,” I snap, fed up with him already. “And what the fuck? Did you just fucking flick my face?” Balling his fists at his sides, mister-that's-not-my-name clenches his jaw in an attempt to hide his anger.

 

I kick him in the shins with my good leg just for the sake of it, which earns me a slap across my cheek.

 

“Did you just bloody hit me?” I demand, boiling in anger, “Did you just fucking hit a defenseless girl?!”

 

“You asked for it!” He yells back at me in frustration. I laugh. I meant it as a small chuckle, but it soon grew out to be an enormous, hysterical fit which made my whole body ache. This is ridiculous. “No I didn't!” I spit out, glaring at him. “Just... take the ropes away. I have to um, you know, do the thing.”

 

“What ? Oh–that,” he realizes dumbly. He unties me, helps me get up, and throws me over his shoulder again, since we both know I can't walk. This Julian-guy is the next on my list; 'who to kill'. I am surprised to see that Olvian–I decide that I'm going to call him that until he tells me his real name–has found a kind of abandoned house. I look back at the tree I was tied to a minute ago, wondering why someone would have a tree in their home. Then again, the house was abandoned, and the building doesn't look very steady in my eyes. The roof has fallen down at some places, the door is just a large gap in the front wall–which is just a couple layers of dried leaves–and come to think about it, the tree is the only thing that holds it all together, without it the house would be a heap of broken-down walls.

 

Olvian stops. He searches our surroundings for any dangers, lurking in the shadows of the trees around us. When he doesn't find anything suspicious, he puts me back on my feet, still alert and not looking at me.

 

“You can let go of me now,” I say after a few seconds. Seconds pass before the moron finally glances my way. “You sure you can do this alone?” His question doesn't sound caring or interested, more like he wants to make sure I am not going to make a run for it the second he loses contact with me.

“Yes and before you ask, I'm not even able to walk, thanks to you, so the chance that I'm able to run off to freedom are pretty slim.”

He frowns at me, but doesn't comment and removes his hands from my wrists. I hop on my good leg, moving from one tree to another for balance.

 

“Don't look!” I warn him, “Because I will kill you in your sleep if you do.” I hear him chuckle from where I am, knowing he got the message.

 

 

“I am hungry,” I whine loudly, as we are walking through the forest. For the last hours, I have been annoying him non-stop. A person can only ignore my terrible whining for this long, and I'm waiting for him to finally break and snap. “Ollie,” I groan, secretly grinning when I feel his muscles tense, “Get me some food before my insides start eating each other.”

“Is that how you're going to call me now? Ollie?” he points out between gritted teeth. Finally. He snapped. I smile at his futile attempt to hide his bad temper caused by me.

 

“Yep,” I say teasingly, “Ollie The Annoying. Sounds great right?” Out of nowhere, a jolt of pain strikes me, and I yelp in agony. Tears spring into my eyes.

 

“Sorry,” I say. Before I can continue, Olvian starts talking.

“Apologies accepted. I–” I jab him in the back with my elbow.

“I wasn't finished,” I tell him. “I wasn't even apologizing. I wanted to say that Ollie The Annoying doesn't quite fit you, so I changed it to Ollie The Annoying Jerk.”

 

Olvian sighs exasperatedly in response. “What is your name, anyway?”

I gulp. “I'm not going to tell you my name.” That isn't what he expected, because his voice sounds too surprised when he asks, “Why not?”

 

“You didn't tell me yours either,” I say, which is partly true. I am fed up with the fact that he didn't tell me his name, his real name, but for the main part I'm angry with myself, for not being able to remember my name. How can a person forget their name?

 

“Fair enough,” Olvian says, coming to a halt. I'm not sure if he is talking to me or himself. “We're going to stop here for now. We'll continue later.” He makes me sit down against to a fallen tree trunk, removes the bandage made out of my jeans, and checks the sore spot. He scrunches up his face.

 

“You're going to need to get that checked out.” His voice sounds almost concerned. I shake my head. “And how are we going to do that? There is no doctor here, now is there?”

 

Olvian stands upright, stretching out his arms. As he does this, his shirt lifts up a bit, and gives me a quite a show of his abs. “Keep your shirt down, will you,” I say, rolling my eyes, “I have seen enough horrific things already.” The images of those dead people, the dead children, laying there, on the ground, flash before my eyes. I can feel the tears well up again, but I blink them away quickly. Olvian cannot see my weakness. I must be strong.

 

He grins, dropping his arms. “Thought girls your age would like to see such a beauty like me?”

 

“I don't,” I say, glancing away from his watchful stare. My fingers ache to do something, so I let them pull the grass out of the earth and throw them to the boy in front of me. “And you're just having a slight ego problem. Maybe you should get that checked out by a doctor too.”

 

Olvian drops on the ground next to me. I shift away from him, uncomfortable. His gun sticks out of his sweat pants when he props his hands under his head, leaning against the tree-trunk. “Get some rest, we're gonna need it,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.

 

Only when his breathing slows down, I let my shoulders drop, and feel my body relax a bit. My head has nearly stopped pounding, which makes it easier to think and calm down a bit. However, my left thigh is still throbbing painfully, no matter what I do, making it impossible for me to sleep, as Olvian ordered me to. I sigh, looking around me.

 

The forest is bright, full of green vegetation and singing birds. Yesterday, they were scared off by the gunshots, and now they're back, I fell slightly better. Somehow, I know that the absence of animals, especially of birds, is a sign of danger. It is a warning. No signing birds means you're better off running for your life or you're a dead man walking.

I make a mental note to always pay attention to my surroundings. Just to make sure.

 

The sounds here are peaceful, everything here makes it so damn hard for someone to notice there's something awful going on in here. Nothing tells me there are people living here, nothing gives away their presence. Not even the slightest hint. It is the hut, that tells me there were people here before us, but they could may as well be long gone, dead or killed by the inhabitants of these woods.

 

I wonder if Olvian is telling me the truth about them. Are they really that dangerous? Are they really so set on killing us, intruders of their lands? Or is he just playing with me, trying to make sure I don't run away? Is he just scaring me so that I'm too afraid to leave him? I am not sure what to believe anymore, truth, I realize, is a powerful but complicated thing and should be treated as such; with caution.

 

I turn my head to look at Olvian, who is fast asleep now. Both hands have slipped from underneath his head, one onto the gun tucked under his waistband, the other is laying on the ground, in the space I made between us. He wears black clothes; a tight-fitting, v-neck t-shirt, black sweat pants, both covered in mud and my blood. His face needs some cleaning, too; there are a few streaks of blood, my blood, are dried up on his pale face. His hair is a shade of midnight black, and shines in the sunlight. It falls into his eyes, giving him an innocent look.

 

But I know better than that. He is not innocent, far from it, too, as he keeps me hostage, wanted to kill Elijah for escaping him, Carol, Julian–some random dude who shot me–and the other guy, for a for me still unknown reason.

 

I hate him for it.

 

What happened to the girl? What are they doing to her? And why? I want to ask Olvian, but decide against it. He is tired, that much is clear, and he's so far the only thing that keeps me alive. I can't walk by myself, I have no clue where I am whatsoever, and I don't think his people would like to see me without him if I ever come across them. They would know I was the girl Julian shot, and they would maybe kill me for escaping them, twice.

No, staying with Olvian is probably the best thing, at least for now. If he's telling the truth about the forest-people, I am sure as hell I don't want to be found by them. I am not ready to be killed, not yet.

 

I don't know for how long I sit there, staring at him and our surroundings, but after a while my eyes start to droop and I find myself fall asleep, my head against his shoulder.

 

I must survive this.


	2. Chapter Two - The Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erin and the boy find themselves in a forest, where dangers lurk in the shadows.

C H A P T E R T W O

 

T H E C A M P

 

 

“Hey,” a voice, still groggy and full of sleep, whispers in my ear. “Wake up, we're leaving.” I mumble something incoherent, swatting away the hand on my shoulder, though missing it by far. The person sighs. Then it's silent again, which I'm thankful for. I make myself comfortable against the tree-trunk again, but a strange feeling creeps up on me, driving away all sleep I had in me.

 

I bolt upright, shrieking, my eyes wide with fear, when two strong arms lift me up. I can feel myself hanging over his shoulder again, as my arms dangle aimlessly above the ground.

 

“You're such a jerk, Ollie The Arrogant Jerk,” I say, already fed up with him and his behavior.

“I thought it was Ollie The Annoying Jerk?”

“I changed my mind,” I retort, closing my eyes, imagining setting his feet on fire.

 

“Ow! Goddamn it!” he yelps, dropping both of us onto the ground, yanking the boots off his feet and clutching them with his hands. The smell of burned rubber fills the air around us, and I can't help but wonder what caused this–Ollie yelping, the strange smell, the burned shoes–and I congratulate whatever it was gratefully. No one likes to be taken hostage, I'm no exception.

 

“Karma's a bitch,” I tease through gritted teeth–the jerk just fucking dropped me on the ground, onto my leg, which is still throbbing painfully, . “But you know what they say, he that mischief hatches, mischief catches, right?”

 

“You're a bitch, you know that?” Olvian says angrily. He closes his eyes as he clutches right foot and breathes in and out, deeply. Whatever he's trying to do is working, because he does it again on the left one. I look at the blisters on his feet, to discover them gone.

 

“Huh? How did you do that?” I ask, flabbergasted. One second he has burns all over his feet, the next they're gone.

 

He swivels his head towards mine, narrowing his eyes. “Don't tell anyone. You have seen nothing.”

 

“What?” I don't understand anything of this, why would I keep this a secret when he doesn't even give me his bloody name? “No, I did see that–tell me what you just did or…or...”

 

“Or what?”

 

“Nothing. Never mind. Let's get going already, I'm hungry.” Olvian nods, pulling his socks and combat boots back on. I look at my own shoes, which are tattered and muddy ballerina's. They are mud-brown and red. I wonder where I got them, how my life was before I woke up yesterday, on that field.

 

“Yeah, me too.” Olvian gets up and walks over to me. “We're not that far away anymore.” I let him throw me over his shoulder, careful not to move my left leg or let it touch anything as we set off again, to the Camp.

 

And that's how we travel; me thrown over his shoulder, he walks on a brisk pace, determined to reach the Camp unscratched. I can't help but think about everything that has happened in the short time I've known him, about why he avoids talking about his name. Every time he asks me what my name is, I give him the same response, over and over again, “You first,” knowing he won't give me his anyway.

But what if he does give his once?

I have no idea who I am, myself, so how am I going to answer him? Should I tell him that I don't know, that I can't remember anything? Can I trust him? I don't know, I don't know, I just don't know.

My head throbs again.

 

“Why,” I hear myself asking, breaking the silence that had fallen between us, “do we have to walk this far? Elijah and I didn't run this far, did we?” Olvian doesn't answer at first, but right after I give up my hope of getting an answer, he speaks.

“Remember, when I said we were being followed? Well–we were. Wildlings, as we call them, were going to follow us into the Camp if we went straight there, so I led them astray.”

 

“Sorry,” I mumble.

 

“Why apologize? You didn't do anything wrong?”

 

“I didn't trust you, I thought you only told me we were being followed so I wouldn't run away. I thought you made it all up, so … I'm sorry.”

 

“Don't be. I wouldn't have trusted me either, if I were you,” he admits.

 

“I still hate you,” I inform him honestly. “We're not friends. Don't act like we are.”

Olvian sighs. “I don't, although it would help you a lot when you do, at the Camp.”

 

I jab his back teasingly. “I won't lie. It feels wrong.”

 

“Your loss,” he says, “but I wouldn't judge you if you did. The Camp is a dangerous place, especially for you.”

 

“Huh? Why is that then?” Is there something wrong with me? Is it just because I'm a girl, or is it something else?

 

“Your hair,” he says, as if that explains everything.

 

“I don't understand why my hair has to do with the Camp being dangerous.”

 

“Sure you don't.” Olvian snorts. “Don't play stupid.”

 

I hit his back with my fist. “I don't play stupid,” I deny, suddenly feeling hurt. “I really don't understand what's going on.”

 

“Wow, that was unexpected,” he says, “I thought you knew. But it makes sense though... Anyways, your hair is white. It is uncommon, heck, it's nearly impossible to have white hair, so I would hide it if I were you. You're not safe with it in full display. You should have it painted or something. I can help you with that, if you want.”

 

“Thanks, but why is the color of my hair so important?” Olvian doesn't answer straight away. He just puts me down, so that he faces me. He stares into my eyes, his blue ones piercing into mine.

 

“You don't know who you are, do you?” he asks quietly. I shake my head, frowning. He looks taken aback by the quizzical expression on my face.

 

“Maybe it's better if you don't,” he says. “let's just call you Erin. You can be my girlfriend. It's safer, trust me.” The glare he gives me is awful, daring me to object, so I don't. It's not like I have a choice, anyway. But he can't stop me from thinking, wondering why I can't know my true identity.

 

“I don't want to be your freaking girlfriend! I'm not that desperate!” I yell at him, feeling furious.

 

“I don't want to be your boyfriend either, trust me, but I am not an awful person, and I know that you are not safe at the Camp. Julian will want your head–he hates white-haired people and don't ask me why, because I don't know–and the guys are a lot more desperate. You are new meat for them, a new toy to play with. But we're still boys, you know, and uh–” I clasp my hands over my ears, blocking out his voice.

“I get it already! Shut up!”

 

 

“I still hate you,” I say, as we set off again, “but thanks for uhm, trying to protect me, if that's what you're doing.”

 

“I am.”

 

After a while, we sit down near some small river. Olvian binds my hands together, and ties me to a tree. As if I was able to escape, I wanted to say, but then I remembered his fist, connecting with my cheek. I shut my mouth at the thought. My hair–long, wavy and white–falls into my face when I touch the place where he hit me. I wince. I'm sure it's a bruise.

 

Olvian comes back, his face now cleaned from my blood and the mud, unties me without saying anything and brings me to the riverbank.

“Drink,” he orders, holding up his hands for me to drink from. “You're not going to get dehydrated, not with me here, not as long as you're mine.”

“I am not yours, asshole,” I spit out, “I am no one's possession. I belong to no one but myself. Not to you, not to anyone. Myself. Got that?” Olvian grins at me, then splashes the water into my face.

“You are my prisoner. And girlfriend. Act like you are, stupid. We're getting closer to the Camp, where even the trees have eyes and ears. Got that?” I nod. Olvian re-fills his hands, cups the water with them and 'hands' them over to me to drink. I lean into them and take a sip, the water filling my dry mouth. I did not know how thirsty I was until that moment, and I do not know how many times Olvian had to re-fill his hands, but I know he had to do it a lot.

After that, we don't waste any more time and leave the place as soon as I was finished drinking.

 

 

“Erin.” My name rolls off my tongue, “Erin. I like it.” The sounds cool, badass in some ways even. It's like promise, a promise that the person the name belongs to is strong.

 

“It's not fair y'know,” I point out, “you know my name, but I don't know yours, and I'm your girlfriend, out of all people!” Olvian laughs, and for the first time, I can finally appreciate his low, attractive, masculine voice as he laughs, the way his chest rumbles, feeling the vibrants in my own body. What is wrong with me?

 

“You're probably right, Olvian is not my name, as I let most people believe, but please don't go shouting it off the rooftops, okay?”

 

“Fine,” I fake forcing-out the word.

 

“Don't laugh,” he warns, “my name's Odarion.”

 

“Why would I laugh? I like this name too, Odarion,” I say, “It's a nice name. So, why Olvian? You said something about it yesterday, that I don't know what it means? You were right about that.”

 

Odarion sighs. “Should've known you were going to ask about that.”

 

“Well, tell me then,” I mock-demand.

 

“They call me Olvian because that's what I am, an Olvian. Our society is divided in certain groups of people, one of them being the Olvian. There are more kids like me, maybe you are going to be one of us too, so you'll get used to being called Olvian. There are even parents who call their kids Olvian, because they think it would help them get into the division. It does not work that way, but that doesn't stop them from trying. Oh and people call me Oliver, if you scream “Olvian” in a group made of only Olvian it kind of makes it complicated, so I told them my name was Oliver.”

 

Curious, I ask, “So what does it mean, to be an Olvian? Why are you Olvian? There has to be a special reason, it doesn't make sense if there isn't one, am I right?” Odarion chuckles. “You are a smart one, I must give you that,” he says, “and yes, there is a reason. I think there is a reason behind everything. Almost everything.” His voice sounds sad, when he voices that last part. “What was I saying? Oh yeah–well, as I already said, I am called Olvian because that's what I am. The Olvian are people who um, do certain things, have done them, or are trained to do them.”

 

It doesn't sound as if he likes it, being Olvian, so I don't push any further, even though I want to ask him so much more, about him, his life, about what he knows about me, my life, my family, my parents, if I have siblings. However, I know I'll have to wait for another opportunity to ask him, because I also know I must be careful around him, someone he works with–I wouldn't particularly say they're friends–shot me in the leg, after all.

 

In the distance, I hear a faint, vague, buzzing sound, but I can't exactly tell what it is. The closer Odarion walks, the more sounds I hear, and the louder they get.

 

Sometimes, a huge shadow is thrown over us, paired with a super loud, rumbling from above. I wonder if it's something Odarion is used to hear all the time, since he doesn't even glance upwards.

 

It is getting dark again, when I open my mouth again. I am bored to death, my head is throbbing violently because of the constant upside-down position I'm in–too much blood is streaming into my head, which is really starting to bother me–and I think I lost all feeling in both legs. It's time for a change.

 

“Odarion? Can you put me down, I'm feeling dizzy.”

“What's the magic word?”

I roll my eyes at his childishness as I put up my sweetest sugary voice, “Pretty please?” He snorts at my response, but does as I asked. I lean on him for balance, as the blood enters my legs again, making them tingle so vigorously, it hurts. It feels as if someone grabbed a handful of needles and is jabbing them into me, over and over and over again. “Damn, that hurts,” I groan, biting on my bottom lip. Odarion watches me with furrowed brows.

 

“I know you from somewhere,” he suddenly says. His voice sounds truthful, honest. “I really do.”

I look at my muddy shoes. “Shame I can't say the same.” I stomp my right leg to the ground, so that I have something to do against the pain, which is already dulling. I know that if stomped my on left, I would've been screaming and tossing on the ground, begging for the pain to stop. The pain is getting worse, but I don't like to show it to Odarion, afraid of what he might do. He might as well leave me here, like Carol did with the other kids, the kids who weren't strong enough. She discarded them like dead weight, literally.

 

When I lift my head, Odarion is still looking at me with that same expression on his face, his eyes searching for clues to discover who I am. I want to turn away from his intense stare, but he puts his hands on my hips, preventing me from moving.

“Odarion, we have to go,” I hastily say, “we have to get to the Camp before dark, remember?”

That makes him snap out of his gaze, and he nods. “Yeah.”

“Can I ride your back now?” I ask him. “I really don't want to hang upside-down anymore.”

“What's the mag–” I hit his chest, annoyed. “Please!” A smile stretches across his face, showing two rows of white teeth. “Alright, piggyback it is, m'lady,” he jokes, turns and crouches down. I get on his back, smiling too–even though I don't know why.

 

 

The rumbling gets louder again. A bit scared, I clamp onto Odarion, my nails digging into his arms.

“What's wrong?” he asks, looking around for any lurking dangers.

“That sound,” I say. I have to speak up to get over the loud sound. “What is it?”

 

“It's a helicopter!” Odarion yells. “They're picking us up! How nice of them!” He starts running toward somewhere in the distance. He has to hold my body tightly to his in order not to let me fall, and has to be very careful not to touch my injured leg too much.

 

I gulp, trying not to think about what is going to happen.

 

Odarion runs to an open space in the woods. He must know this place well, I realize, because for the past days, he didn't even need a map to find his way around here. It both frightens and fascinates me. It means that he has spent a lot of time in the forest, and people who know the way around there–the way he does–are rare. They are very valuable, and valuable people have more power. My head surprises me sometimes, I didn't even know I knew this stuff, and yet here I am.

 

I think the hanging upside-down all the time has finally gotten to my head.

 

We get down, as the wind sweeps around us. Leaves and small branches get stuck in my already tangled hair, as they are thrown around by the strong wind caused by the helicopter.

 

The thing itself is big and black. Its wings spin so fast I can't see them properly. The glass is blackened, so it's impossible for me to see who is flying it. The big black thing lands. We wait for the blades to slow down, as the sound also dies down a bit. My ears ring.

 

Two people, dressed in the same clothes as Odarion, hop out, onto the ground. They carry guns, guns bigger than my arm, pointing them at me. My eyes widen in shock. I scream.

 

“No!” yells Odarion. The sound is still too loud. “She's alright, just injured!”

 

One of them orders something to whoever is still inside the helicopter. The blades pick up speed again. The other comes walking towards us, yells something at Odarion, who puts me down.

 

“Don't be scared. It's alright, they won't hurt you,” he says, as both men come running to me. The one who ordered Odarion to put me down, grabs my arms when he steps back, and lifts me up. He walks, bending over, to the black thing. He hands me over Odarion, who has already gotten in. He wraps his arms around me, shushing in my ear, telling me everything will be okay.

 

I try to believe him.

 

From where I sit, I am able to look outside. I can see the treetops, the occasional open spaces and after a few minutes, the Camp.

 

It is a huge bubble. I don't know what it is made of, but it's enormous. Through the see-through material I discover hundreds of tents to be set up in the biggest clearing I have ever seen–not that I have seen many–all in different shapes, colors and stages of use; some look new, but most of them have been patched up with other pieces, in other colors. There is an invisible border, splitting the Camp in two. One side is packed with the tents I saw, the other is full of different sizes of houses, some with colored roofs; red, blue and green, however, some aren't; they're just black or white. Some don't have a roof at all. The Camp looks like a city, with thousands of people, running through the streets between the tents and buildings. I note that the houses look far more comfortable than the tents, and conclude they are for the wealthy people, the people with power.

 

I wonder in where Odarion lives, or where I have to sleep.

 

Odarion has been talking to me, I now notice, and I try to understand what he is talking about. “...we sleep there, after you've registered yourself. Oh, and I think Carol would like to meet you, since you tried to escape her after all. Not today though, we have to get you to a doctor first. Registering can wait. Doctor is more important right now.” I look at him as if he has grown another head. “Why would I do that? No one likes to meet the person who escaped them, that's insane!” Odarion chuckles, shaking his head. “You are here, right? You haven't escaped her, but she likes people who stand up against her, people with courage. You have courage, Erin, and that's what she wants to see. Your courage. Don't worry, she doesn't kill people with courage, let alone courageous girls. You'll be fine.” I don't respond.

 

Getting out of the helicopter goes the same as getting in. Odarion jumps out, some black-clothed dude hands me over to him so that I am carried bridal-style by Odarion. His arms are strong, far stronger than mine. If I ever would have to escape from his grip, I wouldn't stand a chance against him. He is confident, I am not.

 

Several people nod in acknowledgment when we pass them. We head towards the fence, which separates the forest from the Camp, which is heavily guarded. Security is a huge thing here, I assume, seeing as four guards stand on watch at the big gate–four heavily armed guards–and six, also armed, men and women alike, march between watchtowers. All are clothed in black. I am the only one who wears color–red.

 

The buzzing sound I had heard earlier came from here, is the loud chatter from the people from inside the fence. The thing itself is big, made out of metal and wood, woven together into one chunk of strong material. There is a small sign, partly unreadable due to the dirt that covers it.

‘DANGER: ELECTRICAL SHOCK HAZARD. DO NOT TOUCH IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO DIE.’ The sign says, however, something else; somebody thought it was funny to stripe through both NOT's. If it was any other day, I would've been able to laugh about it, but I was far too tense for see the joke in it now.

 

“Olvian,” a guard greets, stepping toward us. “Good to see you're back. Who's this?” He nods in my direction. His hair is a dark shade of blonde, his green eyes alert and watchful.

“This is Erin,” informs Odarion casually. “Prisoner. She almost escaped Carol, Julian, Harold and me yesterday. Almost. Julian shot her in the leg, but I've seen her run–Derek isn't going to be happy. She will give him a run for his money, I'm sure.” Both guys laugh.

 

“Talk to you later man, I gotta get this one inside.” The guard turns around, types in some sort of code on a black box next to the gate, and after a loud buzz, the gate opens.

 

 

Rumbustious. It's the only word that comes up in my head when I see the crowd move before my eyes. Children chase each other, playing tag, mothers run after them, groups of teenagers in black clothes goof off, the enormous crowd makes my head to dizzy.

 

Odarion greets people as he passes them, heading towards the houses I had seen from out of the helicopter. Everyone stares at me curiously, eying the wound in my leg–which has started bleeding again–as I wrap my arms around Odarion's neck for support. He is smiling, but I can see it's not a genuine one.

 

“Hey!” Someone yells urgently, “Olvian!” Odarion turns around quickly to face the person. I tighten my grip. It is a girl, her long, black hair pulled into a high ponytail. She narrows her eyes at me, her hands on her hips. “Who's that?” she demands. I notice she has the same high cheekbones as Odarion, the same bright shade of blue in their eyes, heck, even their hair color match. Odarion rolls his eyes, before letting me stand on my own feet again.

“Erin, this is my sister, Violet.” He turns back to his sister. “Violet, this is my girlfriend, Erin. We took her yesterday. You must've heard the story.” Violet nods, even though she still glares at me.

“Girlfriend?” she spits, “That's fast.” I frown, as Odarion scratches the back of his head, his other arm wrapped around my waist for support.

“Yeah,” I say, matching my tone to hers–as bitchy as possible, “I have that effect on people sometimes.” I smile at her shocked face. It is silent for a few super tense seconds, then we all burst into laughter. “She's a keeper,” Violets blurts out, “I mean it Ollie. From what I've heard, she is damned fast, chances are she's faster than Derek!”

“Ollie?” I say, “Good one. Thanks, I'm going to use–” Odarion covers his hand over my mouth, muffling the rest of my sentence.

“Lettie!” he groans, “I thought we had agreed to never use that nickname ever again?”

Violet chuckles, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “I changed my mind, I guess.”

Odarion sighs exasperatedly, leaning against me. “Anyways, why did you want to talk to me?”

Violet immediately straightens, back into business-mode. “Jargen wants to see you and her.”

Odarion's shoulders drop abruptly. “When? What does he want?” He sounds concerned, too concerned for my liking. “Now,” she says, smiling sadly at me. “I'm sorry.” She leaves without saying goodbye.

 

Odarion lifts me over his shoulder again and I prop my hands under my chin, blowing a few strands of hair out of my face, my elbows poking into his back.

 

“What does this Jargen-dude want anyway?” Odarion turns a corner. The grass we walk on is trampled and muddy. The people we pass are all clothed in different colors, although never red, like my shoes. I frown. What's wrong with red? I know red means something, but I can't remember what exactly.

“I don't know,” he admits. We are heading towards a big, brownish–reddish–house. Again that dried-up-blood color. Behind it, I can see the first houses, which probably belong to the wealthy and powerful people.

 

Suddenly, I see Violet running after us with something blue in her hands.

 

“Here,” she breathes, “Put this over her head. Her hair–you know what it means–Jargen–her hair–God, you walk fast–just–ah man–do it.” Odarion stops, Violet pulls us into a nearby tent, shoos away the girls who are inside and tells Odarion to get out so I can change. I pull the white dress and the blue cloak on after Violet turns around. I note it is an almost perfect-fit. Violet nods in approval when she faces me again, and kicks my muddy clothes under a table. She helps me hop out of the tent. Outside, she pulls the cap the cloak has over my head and tucks away loose strands of hair out of sight.

 

Odarion looks at me, then nods at Violet. “Jargen is not a man to mess with, Erin, remember that,” he begins saying. His tone is serious. “He is our leader, but the most vicious and cruel man on earth when he wants to, so watch out. Be polite, never speak when not asked or addressed, always look down or away from him. But most of all; never tell him who you are, or who you actually are not, in your case. Chances are he kills you–and maybe us too, if we're unlucky–when he realizes he has been lied to.”

 

“We just have to make sure he doesn't realize it then,” Violet says, shrugging, when we set off again.

 

“Name,” someone–a male guard–who I can't see, grunts. “Olvian Farnell, third-in-command under Miss Carola Johnson, and Erin, my prisoner, injured.”

 

“Business?” the guard grunts again.

 

“They are asked to meet Sir Jargen,” Violet answers curtly. “I am Violetta Roxella Farnell, second-in-command under Sir Jacques Sanderos, and will escort them myself.” The guard opens the door for us, letting us in. The entrance closes immediately behind us. There are two black-clothed men guarding the entrance from the inside, three from the outside. This place is sure heavily guarded.

 

The floor is covered with a red fabric–a sign of wealth–with yellow lines woven through it in flowing lines, criss-crossing at some places. I recognize the pattern from somewhere, maybe from home?

 

The whole place is covered in red and yellow, whereas the people inside are clothed in black. The girls who work here wear long, yellow dresses. They all have the same clothes, the same bracelets on their wrists and ankles, which jingle as they walk. Their movements are always gracious, I wish I could move so beautifully–but I know these women are not here on their own free will. Ankle bracelets represent imprisonment.

 

“Violetta! Hey girl!” a girl comes running to us hastily. She has short, brown hair and a pair of dark, blue jeans and a black tanktop on. It must be summer here. She looks at me curiously before throwing her arms around Violet, who returns the hug when her shock dies down after a second or two.

 

“Hey Norah,” Violet greets, smiling. “How's life? What do you think of the Camp–cool right?”

 

The girl–Norah–nods enthusiastically, her eyes bright with happiness. “Yes! I love it here!” she says. Her head spins around. “Who's that?” Norah points at me, as she sees we're walking through.

I don't think she knows I can still hear her, though.

 

Violet eyes me, shakes her head and faces Norah again. “I don't know.” It is the truth, even I don't know who I am, although still it feels like Violet's lying to her friend. “Rah,” Violet says, glancing at us, “I gotta go. See you later, okay?” Norah nods, watching me thoughtfully. After a few seconds, she seems to wake up from her trance and scurries off.

 

Violet jogs up to us, looking dead-serious. She passes us, when we stop in front of another pair of guards. They too, unsurprisingly, wear black. However, these two men have a gold-and-red mark on their hands, marking them.

 

Odarion moves his mouth to my ear, lowering me down onto the ground. His warm breath brushes the side of my face softly as he speaks. “Remember what we told you? Don't lower your hood, Erin.”

 

The guards move to the side, as Violet pushes the doors open.


	3. Chapter Three – The Divisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erin and Odarion meet Jargen, the leader of the Olvian.

C H A P T E R T H R E E

 

T H E D I V I S I O N S 

 

 

The room is big, huge even. The ceiling is high, made out of glass. The floor shining in the light of the moon. The furniture is colorful and really modern; sleek green-cushioned chairs stand across from each other with a glass table between them in the middle of the room. Three girls in long, yellow dresses stand close to the orange wall on the left. My whole body aches. I am tired, and there are black spots appearing in front of my eyes. They disappear after a second or two though, but still, I don't think it's a good sign.

 

“Ah, there they are,” a male voice says, when Odarion helps me hop into the room. My foot slap on the highly polished marble floor as I hop on my right leg, Odarion on my side, steadying me. We walk to the man, who sits at the head of the glass table. “Sit,” the man says, gesturing to the green-cushioned chairs. The man doesn't look that old, he may as well be forty. He has gray-white hair, which was too long for a man, in my opinion. He wears a black suit, with a red tie. His eyes were an eerie grey shade of green. His left eyebrow is cut in two; a ragged, pink scar splits the brow in two, making it obvious this man had been injured and that's when I see it–his left eye is not green. It is blue, and bloodshot.

 

Damn, this guy is creepy!

 

“I have been waiting for a while now,” the man tells us when we sit down–me being helped by one of those yellow-dress-girls who had rushed from her place to help me–to sprint back there again as of she was never next to me. “But is does not matter now you are here.” He smiles, looking at me curiously–the way everyone does around here, although his gaze scares me.

 

I look into his eyes again, those frightening, eerie blue, green and grey eyes. The way he stares makes me feel uncomfortable. It is as if he can see through the fabric of the clothes I'm wearing–which is gross–it is as if he can see through my flesh, as if he can look right into my soul, can see my deepest and darkest secrets–my life, the life I can't remember. I don't want him to know the things I've done, when I don't even know I have done them in the first place. I have the feeling I have seen this man before, as if I know him, which is ridiculous, so I look away. Darting a glance at Odarion, I find him sitting next to me, looking nervous. I bite my lip.

 

“Welcome Olvian,” the man–Jargen–says, “and thank you, for bringing this young lady to me. Thank you, Violetta, for fetching your brother and his pri–” he seems to hesitate here, “this girl. Can you go and look for Julian? He should've been here, but unfortunately he has forgotten our appointment once again.” Violet nods, and leaves the room. Jargen orders one of the girls to get us some food and a drink. The girls smiles, bows and leaves the room.

 

It is almost medieval, the way this place works. It is weird.

 

“Does your prisoner, I mean, this girl, have a name?”

 

“I am capable of speaking myself,” I say, before Odarion can react. He, in response, shoots me a glare, telling me to shut up. Oh yeah, no talking. “Sorry,” I mumble quickly and look at the table.

 

“It does not matter. What is her name?” Odarion shifts nervously in his seat. “Erin, Sir.”

 

“Nothing else? Not a title, house-name...nothing?” Odarion shakes his head. “Not that I know of, Sir. Just Erin.”

 

“How odd. And Olvian, stop with the 'Sir', it makes me feel so old. So,” he says, trying to lighten the tense mood surrounding us, turning to me, “you are the girl everyone is talking about, even though no one knows your name. Now we know. Erin. I heard you were injured?”

 

His smile is fake; I can see it. He is just trying to get me to trust him, but I'm smarter than that. I can't trust anyone here. I must just act like I do, convince them I fell for their lies, and I'll be safe. I must survive this place. A sharp twinge of pain shoot through my thigh like an electric knife being stabbed into my body.

 

“Yes,” I reply as politely as possible, “I am. Shot, in the leg. Julian did it, I believe.” The man grimaces. “That sounds like a thing my son would do. Didn't Carola tell him not to shoot girls?”

 

“Yes, she did, unfortunately, a boy tried to escape. As he did this, he grabbed her and took her with him,” Odarion says, which is only partly true. “So Julian tried to shoot the boy down. He missed. No offense, of course. ”

 

“None taken. After this meeting, I would like you to bring Erin to a doctor. How was it possible for them to escape? And where is the boy now?”

 

Odarion shifts again. “We had some trouble with one of the prisoners. A girl. Harold couldn't keep her in check, so Carol and I had to help him. Julian saw us, but instead of helping, he only distracted us. Erin and the boy ran fast. I have never seen someone run as fast as Erin did. We had to make sure that the other prisoners wouldn't get away too. Since I was alone, I could only grab one of them. Therefore the boy escaped us. We do not know where he is now.” Jargen sighs.

 

“So Erin,” he begins, “you are what–sixteen? Seventeen?” I look at Odarion for help. I don't know what to say–I have no idea whatsoever, when it comes to telling things about myself. He blinks twice. I move back to my original pose. “Seventeen, Sir,” I answer, hoping it is the truth. It is nice to have a name, to know who you are, even if it's a fake one. Maybe if I just imagine being seventeen, I wouldn't feel so empty all the time. Still, I am curious to see how my life used to be, what kind of person I was. When I am free again, away from this hell-hole, I will search for my old-self. Now is not the time.

 

“That's perfect. Do you know how things work here?” I shake my head. “No, not entirely. Sorry.” The man narrows his eyes a bit, crossing his arms over his stomach.

“I believe you can explain this to Erin very well, better than me, Olvian–I will make it seem too complicated, I think.” The door opens, revealing the girl who had left the room to get us some food and something to drink earlier. The other two girls rush to her, helping her by placing our food and drinks in front of us. They smile at us, though the girl who served me looked almost in envy toward my food, not uttering a single word, before going back to their original places, near the wall. They move like robots. Maybe they are robots. Anything is possible here, it seems.

 

“Our society is dived in several Divisions, each having its own purpose and job,” Odarion tells me. “At the age of sixteen, everyone here makes a test. The result of that test tells you which Quality–which can be a Skill or Power–you have. Your Quality determines your Division. After the test on Testing Day, the Divisions gather. You choose the Division with the Quality you have, so for example, when you are really athletic, you go to Olvian, the Division which consists of mostly strong people. The Olvian defend the Gernai, the people who do not have a Power but a Skill. A Skill is more common than a Power, because Skills are learned, and Powers are things you are born with. You are tested on several things – can't tell you what. The results wouldn't be clear enough if you knew. Anyways. If you find yourself unable to pass at least one of the tests, you are called Divisionless. The Divisionless are not allowed in the Camp, and therefore banned from this place. Being Divisionless is the worst thing that could happen to you, so just pass the test and you're fine.” Odarion reaches for his glass and drinks from it. I watch him drown the contents of it, before setting it down again. Jargen sips his drink between bites–he obviously likes the chicken–but the look on the girl's face makes me uneasy. She is not allowed to eat, but has to watch us eat. But I am hungry, too, and I can't even remember when I ate last–which isn't that surprising. I don't remember that much anyway.

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “But what if you pass more than one test? You can be really smart and fast right?”

Jargen clears his throat. “That's impossible. You can only fall into one category, not multiple. The tests are made in such a way that it is only for those who belong in that particular Division manage to get perfect scores.” I cut into the food nervously–I don't even register what it is before putting it in my mouth, gulping it down. My leg starts to throb angrily again. I must see a doctor soon.

 

“Um, there's only one thing I still don't understand; I'm seventeen, not sixteen. How am I supposed to be tested?” I take a sip of my drink. It tastes sweet on my tongue, and all of the sudden, I feel so thirsty, as if I haven't drunk in a long time, I drown it in one go. The girl who had looked so longingly at my food fills my glass again.

“You have good point there. Testing you will be one hell of a job...” he trails off and sighs after a minute or two. “No, you are not going to be examined. Since these circumstances are very rare, I will trust your education to this Olvian. You are no longer a prisoner, or a hostage, but one of the Olvian. You do have to go through–” He stops mid-sentence, his eyes trained onto the door.

“Julian! Where the hell have you been? I requested a meeting this morning, I even had that girl–oh God, what's her name – Violet–go and fetch you, seeing she has never been unable to find anyone, but you were impossible to trace down once again. I will not tolerate such behavior, not even from my very own son. You are not allowed to leave with the next search party, not until I say so. Understood?” I grab my glass for another sip.

 

“But dad! She ran!” whines Julian. I keep my eyes trained on the table as I set the drink against my lips. “She is the sole reason why that other guy could escape! I had to shoot her! Her hai–” At that, I choke on my drink and accidentally knock over the can, preventing him from saying those dreaded words – what a pity. Note the sarcasm used. The contents of the can – which was nearly full – spill over the table.

How convenient.

“Oh my God, I'm so, so sorry!” I say, trying to sound convincingly apologetic. The girls all sprint to the table, one of them taking away my plate, glass, the second pulling my chair back, the third helping me getting up. It is that same girl again, her red hair pulled into a twisted ponytail. The other two have brown hair, so she stands out a bit. Her eyes are a bright shade of green, though they have a sad look to them. She glances at my cloak, and the spilled drink on it, then lifts her eyes to my face.

She knows I faked it. She knows.

 

Odarion jumps up from his seat. “Sir–uhm, can we go now? We're sorry for all this–” he waves at the mess on the table, “–but I think we are done here. Erin needs medical attention, and I think we should not wait any longer. Thank you for your generosity.” Jargen nods and dismisses us.

 

Odarion slides his arm around me, so that I can hop on my right leg again. The red-haired girl doesn't let go of me until we stand in front of the door. Odarion opens it, when she whispers, “Tomorrow at sunset. The Fallen Bird, Odarion knows where it is. Be there, promise.” I bite my lip. Can I trust her? Who is she? How does she know Odarion's name? “It's important,”she urges, as he pulls me to him, narrowing his eyes at us. “I promise,” I say quietly.

She smiles softly. “See you there then.” I let him drag me forward, away from her. She closes the door.

 

 

The walk to the doctor's tent is tiring. When we finally arrive there, a thin layer of sweat covers my forehead. After a glance at Odarion, I see his is too. I fell down a couple of times, due to the constant pain that strikes me at every movement I make. The doctor's tent is not big. It has a light color–I think it's orange, but I'm not sure, since it's completely dark outside. I am tired, the pain is unbearable now–I have no idea how I have survived this long without bursting into tears. When Odarion pushes the canvas aside, I feel nothing but pain. I can't think straight anymore, not that I have been thinking straight ever since I woke up on that field, which feels like a lifetime ago, anyway.

 

The inside of the tent is lit up by a gaslight standing on a small, round, orange table, making the darkness surrounding us seem even darker, making the shadows move–which, of course, could also be me imagining things, I'm not sure if I can trust myself at this point anymore. I blink, once, twice, but the shadows keep moving.

 

Out of the shadow steps a woman of merely twenty years old. She has long, white hair, which cascades down her back, I notice, when she turns around to grab something–another light, and turns it on. The light chases away the dark in the tent completely. She wears khaki-colored shorts, a white tanktop, and a light blue button-up shirt, the buttons left unbuttoned. On her right sleeve is a black band with a sign on it. She hangs the lamp up on a hook, crosses the tent, stopping in front of us. “God Odarion, what did you do to her?”

 

Odarion opens his mouth, “Lauren, please help her, she's been shot.” The doctor–Lauren–pulls the hood of my cloak down. Her face stays placid as she sees my hair. “When?” He checks his watch, which is unsurprisingly, also black. “Two days ago.” Her green eyes bulge out of their sockets, baffled. “What?” she cries out, “Why didn't you heal–I mean–come in here earlier? Wait–Where? Where is she shot?”

 

The pain is sharp and sudden, and spreads out with electric fingers from my thigh to the rest of my body. I collapse onto the ground, groaning. Black spots emerge from the edge of my vision, filling it. I close my eyes. There is a loud sound, a thud and then nothing.

 

 

I drift in and out of sleep, the sounds around me sometimes there but not processed by my head, sometimes they are too far away, sometimes, I am sleeping yet I hear what is happing around me, though I can't think, move nor speak. This is one of those times.

 

“Why didn't you heal her?”

“The bullet was heal-proof, but even if it wasn't, I couldn't do it Lauren, she'd know what I am–”

“You can't hide what you are Odarion, not from her. She'll discover your secret–your power–eventually, but it's up to you when she knows. If you don't tell her everything yourself, she will find out another way. If you like it or not, she will uncover everything, I'm sure of it. She is smart enough for that. If you choose not to tell her, she won't be as understanding as she may be now, Odarion.”

I hear a sigh. “I know, I know.”

 

The darkness calls my name again, though still I can't quite hear the name itself. It is strange to know what is whispered to me, when you can't hear it being actually whispered. It makes me feel empty inside, as if I am empty of all memories, all the things I have been through in life. The hollow feeling swallows me whole.

 

 

I wake up to hear people talking, but I am still drifting in and out of sleep. My hearing fails me a few times, making it hard for me to understand what is actually being said.

 

“...awake yet?”

“No...think so. Go away, she needs...”

“When is she...up?”

“Why are you …. anyway?”

“She's my girlfriend, for God's sake!”

 

“Dammit. My head hurts,” I hiss between gritted teeth, clutching my head with my hands. Someone rushes to my side, their footsteps pounding in my ears like they belong to an elephant. I hear someone else's breathing, my own, a ringing sound and people yelling in the distance. I open my eyes, my vision blurry at first, but after blinking, I see the face of a woman. She smiles as she leans over me and pushes away a strand of her white hair behind her ear. Her eyes are bright, the green irises shining in the sunlight that enters the tent.

 

“You fell on your head,” she explains, still smiling. “Hard.” She touches my temple softly with her fingers. “You'll live... for now.”

“Ow.” I let out a groan, when I try to get up, my leg screaming with pain as I sit upright. I note that I'm still in the doctor's tent–Lauren's tent. She stands next to the Camp bed I'm currently in, her hands pushed into the pockets of her shorts. They are full of bloodstains.

 

“Is that my blood?” Is all I can muster. The words roll off my tongue like water falls down at a waterfall; unstoppable. Lauren nods, her smile faltering. “Yes. Stitching you up was one hell of a job, it cost me over thirty minutes to do it–so don't you dare and rip them.”

I look around, searching for Odarion. “Where's...” The words seem to fail me. “Damn it...” Lauren laughs, the sound light, although there is a sad tone to it too. She laughs with a depressed edge. I wonder why.

“I sent your boyfriend away, he'll be back here soon enough though,” she informs me. Her smile is back on her pale face.

“Boyfriend?” I mutter dumbly, “Oh yeah, Odarion... that's right–I don't think I'm awake yet. Ugh. ” I sigh. Then I remember I have to be somewhere. Not awake my ass. 

 

 

“Uh, Lauren–I can call you that right?–what date and time is it?” Lauren nods and checks her watch. It is a grey one, the leather strap is braided, brown and looks worn.

 

“It's eleven, and we're only a day further. Why?” I shrug. “No reason. Just asking.” I make a move to get out of the bed, but Lauren stops me when she sees what I'm trying to do.

 

“No going out of bed for you–I haven't checked my work yet,” she says sternly and turns around. I watch her grab a couple of things, things I can't see properly since she stands in the way constantly as she moves around the tent. She walks graciously, like the girls in the yellow dresses I saw yesterday. She however, isn't a prisoner or slave like them, she's here for different reasons.

 

She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear when she turns around, a smile on her face again. In her hands, she holds a pile of clothes in the left and scissors in the right. The smile broadens.

 

 

 

“Where's... woah! Lauren what did you do to her?” Odarion's voice cuts through the peaceful silence around around us the second his eyes land on me. Silence is maybe not the best word to describe the sounds from outside the tent, but I think it was very nice to hear all those people and children running about, their voices bright and lively. I still don't grasp the fact that some of them are trained to kidnap children like me. I wish I knew how Elijah is right now, if he's still alive, and not killed by the Wildlings. And who was that girl who was with him? Where is she now? Did she have to choose a Division, unlike me? I don't think I'll ever see her again. I look at Odarion, who stands frozen on the spot in the doorway of the tent. He knows. Maybe I can ask him where she is. Maybe I can visit her, talk to her, maybe she knows who I am. But what does Odarion know about me? He said it was better if I didn't know, does that mean he knows? I see him watching me from where he stands so I blink and shift my weight onto one hip, taking away the pressure off the now stitched-up leg.

 

The light of the sun falls on his messy, black hair, making it shine is the rays. He wears his usual type of clothes; a not-too-tight-fitting sleeveless shirt, track pants and muddy skate shoes–all in black of course. Did I skate too? Can I skate? I snap out of my train of thoughts when Odarion clears his throat.

 

Lauren smirks proudly. “Erin doesn't have to hide her hair Odarion anymore, she'll be fine now.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but Lauren beats him to it. “Before you go all protective-boyfriend-mode on my butt, I want to remind you of the fact that I have white hair and look at me! I'm still breathing! When I am able to stay alive, she'll be too. Especially now that it´s painted. Savvy?” It is silent for a moment, before he sighs and walks over to me. He grabs my arms tightly, forcing me to look at his face, which isn't that awful, but that's not the point here. He has a troubled look on his face as he says, “If you're ever threatened because of it, I want you to tell me, understood?” I nod, looking him in the eyes. From the close distance we have from each other, I discover his eyes not to be just blue, no–there are specks of grey hidden in the sea of light and dark shades of blue. Damn. I really like those eyes.

 

Oh no, I mentally scold myself, we're not going there! You hate the guy, remember? He took you hostage, took you to this dumb camp, made you talk to a really creepy dude, who made you one of them but you don't even know what they do exactly, and now he's your boyfriend too? What the hell? Where did it get so complicated? Oh yeah, I remind myself, the second you opened your eyes.

 

I shake my head and take a step back. The pain that immediately follows makes me shudder, but I bite my lip so it's not that obvious I'm in pain. I don't like showing weakness.

 

Leaning onto the Camp bed I had been in last night, Odarion lets go of me, to wrap his right arm around my waist instead. He moves his head closer to me and pushes my hair away from my face. I tense up. No–he isn't going to do that right? He wouldn't, not this soon, not in front of other people. Our relationship is fake. Only there to protect me from the wrong guys, that was our deal.

 

But how are you going to keep that facade up? By showing it, of course. Damn him for being smart.

 

His nose almost touches my neck as his lips brush over my ear as he whispers, “Damn those shorts for making you look this hot.” I let my breath out, which I had been holding in unknowingly, in relief, and slap him playfully across his chest. My hand starts to throb instantly when it comes in contact with his abs but I don't care. I try to move away from him a bit, but it's no use. His grip isn't faltering one bit.

 

I decide to attack him with words seeing as I'm not even close to being as strong as he is. “And you're crazy to call me that, ass–” Odarion places one finger on my lips, cutting me off effectively, his lips curling up into a smirk. “There there, we don't want to hear those dirty words, now do we Pumpkin?” he scolds in a father-like way, his face looking smug. I open my mouth and bite down on his finger. Hard.

 

That will wipe that smug expression from his face quickly.

 

 

“Did you really have to bite so hard?” Odarion whines, as he walks and I limp a bit on the muddy ground. He offered to show me around, an offer I gladly took since I have no idea where everything is and I may find out where The Fallen Bird precisely is. The Camp is, as expected, huge and full of life. The people just keep running, children chasing each other and the teenagers keep staring at me.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep up with him, “I did. Slow down, will you?” He increases his speed. Asshole. I stop moving, but since he has once again wrapped his arm around my waist, he is forced to stop too or he falls–hopefully–face-first into the mud. Unfortunately, he chooses to finally drop the 'I-am-a-jerk-and-I-walk-absurdly-fast'-act and comes to a halt in the middle of the street.

 

“Why did you stop?” he asks. I cross my arms over my stomach. His eyes follow my movement, lingering at the front of my tanktop.

“God, you're such a perv!” I cry out, quickly uncrossing them. People push past us in their usual rush, annoyed by us keeping them up by standing in the way. A woman, I think she's in her late forties, yells at us in annoyance, “Damn kids these days!” before marching away. We set off again.

 

“This,” he tells me, pointing at the fence, “is the Fence. It keeps us in and the Wildlings out. The Fence also protects us from the Evlas, but I don't think they will ever find us here if they actually existed.” I frown. “What are Evlas?” Odarion looks at me in amusement. “What?” I ask, “Something wrong?” He shakes his head, laughing. “Nothing is wrong, it's just... weird, you know.” He shrugs. “It's odd that you don't know any of these things.”

“May I recall that I don't know who I really am?”

“That's true. We still need to find out who you are. Anyways, the Evlas are bad, like bad kind of bad. They're thought to be demons, though I don't believe those stories to be true. I think the Evlas are just there to frighten us, to make us want to stay in the Camp.”

I stare at the fence. “Why would people want to keep us here then?”

 

Before he can respond, someone yells,“Look! He's back!”

“Who's that?”

A small group of teenagers, all in black, stand a few feet away from us. Some of them wave to Odarion. One boy calls out a name. Olvian. Odarion waves back and heads toward them.

 

“Hey man,” he says in greeting, doing some kind of man-hug with the guy who said “Olvian.” before bumping his fist against another guy's–someone whom I recognize as the guard we saw yesterday at the fence. I try to smile at them, hoping it will look like it's an easy one, instead of tense. Two guys and a girl look at me with an unreadable expression on their faces. I am not sure what to make of it.

“Guys, this is Erin. Erin, these are the guys.” I shake hands with them, all handshakes strong.

“So this is the girl I hear all these wild stories about?” the first guy asks, taking in my appearance. His eyes meet mine for a second, and a weird feeling surges through me. I don't know what it is, because it's gone faster than it came. Shrugging the feeling off, I say, “I guess.” The boy smiles. “And should I be worried, Olvian? Is my record in danger?” I have no idea what he is talking about, so I glance at Odarion, who seems to be called Olvian here too. Odarion chuckles and pulls me closer to him. “Yes Derek, I think so.” All of them cheer loudly in response. The guy from the fence laughs before saying, “I'm George, although everyone calls me Georgie.” He raises an eyebrow at the wrapped-up position Odarion holds me in. “A lady friend, Olvian?” The girl watches me, and I have a feeling she won't be as easy on me as the guys. She keeps her distance from me and keeps her lips in a straight line, looking bored.

“You can say girlfriend, dude,” Odarion replies smugly. Georgie just chuckles.

“Aw man! She's hot! Why didn't you give us a chance?” Derek demands, mocking hurt.

“I saw her first. Dibs!” The guys groan and I laugh at their childishness.

“You can't call dibs on me,” I say, “that's rude!” Odarion chuckles. “I'm still a guy...” I roll my eyes, not amused by his annoying behavior.

“And I'm kicking your ass if you don't shut up.” The girl clears her throat, demanding attention. Her blonde hair is mostly pin-straight, though the ends curl perfectly in the high ponytail on the back of her head. A pink elastic headband holds loose strands away from her face, which is covered in make-up, sadly enough, she didn't overdo all the cosmetics. She looks beautiful, it's just the glare she gives me makes me want to strangle her. Her eyes are a light shade of brown, so light they may as well be yellow. Long, black eyelashes frame her eyes nicely.

 

I am getting more and more curious to see how I look. Am I as beautiful as she is? I would like to believe so, even though I know my chances are slim. I look at her clothes, which aren't that different from mine.

 

A black tanktop and black shorts, black combat boots. Her outfit is almost exactly the same, but her clothes have two yellow narrow, stripes over the length of each piece. Her boots have no yellow details, or they are covered by the mud that is on them. Mine are look new and are almost mud-free.

If we're wearing the same clothes, why would she glare at me like this? What is her problem?

 

“What?” I snap when she keeps staring hatefully. She rolls her eyes, scowling. “No need to snap,” she says hotly. Annoyance surges through me like fire. Why does she have to act like this? I didn't do anything wrong to her!

I copy her move and roll my eyes too. “No need to glare,” I retort, successfully keeping the anger out of my voice. There is no need for anger here, not now. A fight won't get me anywhere. There are things I need to do, things I need to know.

“Reyna be nice,” Derek says. “Erin's not from here, she doesn–”

“She has white hair alright! I don't trust her, she may as well be a Norak!”

I stare at her, puzzled. I don't have white hair anymore! “I'm sorry–a what?” Seriously, what is her problem?

“You don't know?” asks Georgie, brushing his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, messing it up a bit. “As Derek said, I'm not from around here.”

“Ah.” Georgie nods. “Well, some people believe there are people who are different, they are supposed to have these special skills or something. I was once told that they can fly, but there are also stories about them owning a beast, a bird, on which they fly. It's fascinating, really.”

“You don't believe in those stories, then?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Well I do,” Reyna points out stubbornly. Derek smiles. “Well I sure don't think the Norak are as evil as they are thought to be, if they existed. Erin didn't even know about them until seconds ago,” Derek states casually, “and our Olvian here...Nah, Rey, I think you're alone on this one. And, Erin doesn't even have white hair!”

 

“It would be cool though,” Odarion says, subtly changing the subject, “being able to fly. I mean, no more walking...” We all laugh at the idea. We talk about it for a while when Reyna clears her throat again. “Erin, how old are you exactly?” Odarion sighs. “Rey, stop it.” Reyna pretends to be shocked as she says, “What? It's just a question!”

“No it's not,” he spits angrily, his fists clenching. “You and I both no it's not 'just a question'. Erin didn't have to go through the tests, because she's seventeen. Jargen said he trusted me when I told him she belongs to the Olvian. Tell Julian he can come to me if he wants to know shit about her, okay?”

“Wow–what? Julian is behind this? He is telling people I have white hair?” I exclaim in frustration, “What the hell?”

She lowers her head, facing the ground. Derek puts an arm around her, ruffles her hair into a big mess on top of her head all the while she shrieks and hits him playfully, successfully lightening the mood. “Julian is an asshole and a liar. Don't believe him.” Derek says, suddenly serious. Reyna nods, smiling. “He's a fucking arse for letting me believe that crap.” We talk for a little while about how much we dislike him, but then I look at the sky and see it's still too early, but sunset is getting closer.

“Hey,” say, “I really want to look around some more, if that's alright...” I know it's getting later and later, and I need to talk to Odarion about The Fallen Bird soon.

Odarion nods. “Yeah, we should probably get going already. I am starving. See you guys!”

 

When we're out of hearing distance, I ask, “What time is it?”

Odarion shoves his hand into his back-pocket, pulling a phone out. He checks the time and puts it back in his pocket. “It's almost two o'clock. Wanna see where we usually get our food?”

I shrug. “Yeah, sure.”

 

 

Odarion is not so bad as I thought at first. He is set on protecting me, though I can't figure out why he would want to do it in the first place. I think about what he said in the tent–about my hair–and I wish he doesn't think Julian is a big threat. I am not so keen on the idea of having to cut my hair; I like the way it is now, even though it's painted black.

 

We walk in a brisk pace to what I think is the center of the Camp. The tents make way for small, brick buildings. The people here are less rumbustious, everything seems to be more organized here. It is nice to see the little children play tag around a big fountain in the center of the square. The outer circle is made out of grey stone, whereas the sculpture of a animal with wings is blood-red. I watch the beast spit out water, I watch it go through the air and fall into the pond around it.

 

The statue is beautiful, yet a bit scaring. What is it? Why would someone put such an enormous beast in the middle of a place like this? And why does it feel like I've already seen such a thing before?

 

The beast's wings are spread out wide, as if it would fly away any second now. The water sprays out of the beak of the large, long head. It's eyes stare at nothing in particular, maybe they look at the sky, or the people who walk past it without even a single glance at it, as if it doesn't exist. Or maybe, it watches me. The thought makes me shudder, even though there's no wind, and the weather is nice.

 

Odarion stands next to me. He turns his gaze away from the thing in front of us and grabs my hand. “Come on, let's get something to eat,” he says, pulling me with him, away from the fountain and the water-spitting animal. I realize there are more fountains, which I didn't notice before, and the same eerie feeling creeps up on me when I turn around to keep up with Odarion. I know them from somewhere.

 

 

We walk into a rather big building with multiple electronic doors, which open when we stand in front of them. Inside, there are faded blue walls with a couple of big windows with plants in front of them. Five rows of seven tables for six people fill the hall. Most are in use by random people. The majority have no black clothes on. Odarion and I and a group of five men and two teenagers, who stand last in line for the food court at the far corner of the hall, are the only one in black. The rest has all sorts of color, which makes me curious; why is color so important here? Does a color mean something, like red means wealth? Do only the Olvian wear black?

I bite my lip. My shoes were red. Where are they now? Did Lauren throw them away? I make a mental note to ask her later.

 

“So,” Odarion says, turning to face him we wait in line, to get our food. The queue isn't that long. I lean against the wall for support. My leg throbs, but thankfully I have gotten used to is so it isn't as bad as it was at first. I still need to punch Julian's face for shooting me, though. I'm not letting him get away with it so easily. “What do you think of the Camp so far?”

 

“Mm,” I say, pretending to think deeply by putting my thumb on the side of my chin and tapping my forefinger against it, looking away to the doors. Then I see him walking in. “Uh-oh, not good!”

I quickly hide behind Odarion's back, my hair falling into my face as I move.

“Huh–oh shit!” he curses, throwing his arms back in a defensive stance.

Julian hears him, turns his head towards us and smiles. He crosses the room, six men and three women following him on his heels. His stride is confident, but I can see through his facade–he is on edge, ready to run. I don't know why I immediately jumped behind Odarion's back, so I step next to him, in full view. I will not look like a coward. Never.


	4. Chapter Four - The Fallen Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odarion and Erin confront Julian, the obnoxious son of Jargen.

C H A P T E R F O U R

 

T H E F A L L E N B I R D

 

 

“Well well well... what do we have here?” Julian says, his tone venom-like. “Oh–I know! An ex-prisoner and an Olvian. Don't you think that's funny?” Julian snaps his fingers and the people around him all laugh obediently. “Yes... yes it is...”

I step closer to him. “No it's not.” Odarion places his hand on my shoulder as if to pull me back. I shrug him off. Julian's smile falters a bit. “Erin, is it?” he asks. I don't respond. Instead, I narrow my eyes at him as he takes another step closer to me. I am not backing off. That's what cowards do. I am no coward. His eyes roam over me, his stare feeling like cold water rolling down my back. Goosebumps appear on my skin. I shiver.

“Oooh, am I frightening you, little girl?” he sneers. His friends laugh. I laugh with them, something that makes them stop. “No you don't,” I correct him, snorting. “This only points out how full you are of yourself, little guy.” He gulps nervously. “Frightening me takes a lot more than this–” I gesture at him and his minions “–whatever this is.” Odarion snickers, saying, “I think you should go Julian.” The boy narrows his eyes at me, turns, and leaves. Before he can take such as ten steps, however, I yell, “Oh and have a lovely day!” just for the sake of it. Odarion and I burst into laughing, and discover the two people of our age, a boy and a girl, are staring at us. Again, all I see is black clothes.

 

The two look very alike, even though he is long and she is short. They both have raven-black hair. His hear stops at his chin, hers touches her shoulders. It is really curly. The messiness of it gives them a wild look. She wears the same clothes as I do

“What?” I ask curtly, crossing my arms over my chest. The corner of Odarion's lips lifts a bit. “Erin, no; they're alright.” I narrow my eyes at him, the way Julian did, annoyed. “I can decide that for myself, thanks.” He shakes his head in disapproval but doesn't comment. When I face them again, I see the girl studying me, and the guy is just tapping away on a small, rectangular, black thing now. He snorts at something I can't see. It's only then that he notices me looking at him, so he quickly shoves it into his pocket. The girl next to him rolls her eyes at him and mimics my stance. She shrugs. “Nothing.” She has an accent, a foreign one at it, too. It sounds familiar.

 

“Please enlighten us then; why the stare?” The girl's eyes widen in realization.

“You're from Gilleon too? I knew it! David, I was right, see!” She tugs on his arm cheerfully. I shoot a hopeful look at Odarion, who looks shocked, to say the least. “I knew it!” the girl continues happily, “I said it yesterday; “I know her from somewhere!” but David, no, he wouldn't listen when I told him to come search for you! He called me crazy, which is true though, but–”

“That's enough Aya,” the boy–David–scolds. She looks at the ground, mimicking his words quietly under her breath all the while. “Sorry for her er, um... rambling. She does that a lot.” He smiles and offers his hand. I shake it. “David Suvyen. And you are?”

“Erin,” I say, letting go of his hand to shake Aya's. “Just Erin. Are you two related or something?”

David smacks his forehead with his hand, muttering, “Oh God...” just as Aya jumps up and down laughing at an inside joke as she smiles. “David!” she gasps when she hears him. “Aya!” he retorts. I can see they're not really angry at each other, though, it's the way they smile. And it's the way she looks at him, and the way he looks at her, that tells me they're not brother and sister, as I firstly thought. “We're...” David trails, scratching the back of his neck.

“Friends. We're friends,” Aya finishes for him, but I know better than that. They're more than just friends.

“Okay,” I say, seeing they're up next to order their food. There are two lines, on both sides are women seated. Why they sit there is a mystery to me. They yell names at each other, which is even weirder. Then my eyes land on the woman in front of us. “That's nice.” I nod at the waiting lady behind the desk. She looks old, or maybe it's just because she's bored to death, maybe that's the cause why she looks like this, I don't know. I don't care. Aya and David both hand over a small white paper, which is snatched out of their hands by the woman.

“Henriette! Two Olvian!” she yells to another woman. Henriette beckons the two to come to her. She gives them a tray with their food and yells, “Dana! Next please!” at the same time as the woman across from her yells, “Agnes, next one, please!” He chooses to go to the one Aya and David went to and gives her his piece of paper. Dana raises her eyebrow at me. “And where's yours?”

“She's new, look at my note, it's signed by Sir Jargen Feylan himself. It says she is a member but doesn't need a note yet.” He taps the paper for more emphasis. When had he gotten that? When I was laying in Lauren's tent?

The woman pushes her lips together, thinking. Why would she? The note is clear, right? Unless it's not. Or she just can't see it. She never said the names of Aya and David, something the other women did. She can't read, I realize, and Odarion knows it.

He's smart, I must give him that.

I smirk. “Miss, he's right, Sir Jargen Feylan said it himself, I don't think he would appreciate someone disobeying him,” I say quietly, looking over my shoulder, making it seem as if this is confidential. I turn back to her. She is watching me intently. From the corner of my eye, I see the corners of Odarion's mouth twitch. “I really don't think that's a good idea at all...”

That seems to convince her because she nods and yells at Henriette to grab 'number seven' for us. I don't know what to make of that but Odarion looks a bit too pleased with what I said.

Henriette hands us our food, spaghetti bolognese, and smiles at us when we walk toward Aya and David.

 

They look up when they see us with the steaming plates of Italian food, something David can't help but comment upon. “How did you manage to get that?” Smiling smugly, I reply, “It's my charm.”

Odarion rolls is eyes when David whispers something to him, I can't hear what he said but it must've been something funny, because he scoffs. “Yeah, that's probably it,” he teases and sits down.

Why did that small comment just hurt?

I sit down across from him, since I'm still not over the fact that he brought me here and made me his freaking girlfriend against my will. Sitting next to him like the couple we're supposed to pretend to be doesn't fit in my plan right now. Jargen and his dumb ass of a son are not here so who the hell cares?

 

The answer is Odarion.

 

Right now, he's giving me the most warning look possible, and I think he's even past that point, really. I boldly stare back into his eyes, smiling stupidly. To anyone else, it would seem as if we're gazing into each other's eyes lovingly, but we both knew better than that. I hate him with whole my heart, and chances are, he feels the same, but just not enough to wish his food to fly right into his face.

 

Next thing I know, my wish comes true; the spaghetti seems to break all gravity laws as it jumps spontaneously in his face. Aya shrieks, David runs to her side of the table immediately as I jump back, out of my chair, ignoring the pain that comes with the sudden movement, looking around for something, anything that would explain why the food would do such things. The spaghetti has fallen onto the table and the ground by now; however, Odarion is sitting so still, I'm not even sure he's breathing. His blue eyes widened, mouth slightly opened, he stares at the red mess in front of him.

 

Finally, I come to my senses and speed-walk to the side of the canteen. There's a long, wooden table with machines on it, out of which you can draw off drinks. There's a pile of cotton napkins on the far right. I grab some and head back, handing them over to him when I reach the table. Odarion wipes his face with them without uttering a single word.

 

You're welcome! Asshole.

 

Aya is looking at me curiously, David is still on edge and doesn't want to move from her side, so I offer him my chair. I pull the chair back and sit down next to Odarion, who is not done wiping yet, but from the looks of it, he doesn't know where he missed a spot.

“You still have some left over here,” I tell him, pointing at some forgotten spot. He tries, but he doesn't get all of it off.

 

“Gimme that,” I say, grabbing a napkin. The fabric turns a faint red when it touches the remains of what used to be his food. Odarion covers my hand with his, pulling it away from his face. The gesture isn't soft, of nice, no; it's almost as if he's angry with me. Why would he be? He has no reason to be mad at me. I didn't do it! How could I?

 

Suddenly, I remember what happened in the forest; his shoes were set on fire. There was no reason then, there is no reason now. How can this happen? Both times, Odarion was the victim.

 

And both times, I wanted it; the first time burning his shoes, this time I wished that the spaghetti would fly into his face. Both times my wish came true.

 

Was it somehow, in some sort of twisted way, my fault?

No, it can't be. There's no way I could have done it, because what is it what I did then? Telekinesis? Cool, but impossible. Damn, telekinesis would be nice to have though, Julian won't even see it coming when I make his meal jump into his face! But I have no such powers, so that's not in it for me, sadly enough. What is then a realistic cause for all this?

 

I get up with nothing. Nothing is realistic. What just happened is supposed to be impossible, against nature, against everything I know, which, I admit, isn't much–but that's not the point here. What occurred in the forest and in here is not supposed to actually happen at all. I don't know what it is, heck, I don't even want to, but what I do know is that it's wrong. Even though I would love to be the one who did this, it's wrong and it shouldn't be possible in the first place.

 

Maybe Reyna was right. Maybe there is something like the Norak, maybe there's such thing, and we just haven't realized it yet.

 

God, what am I thinking?! This isn't real–the Norak aren't real. I'm sure I'm just jumping into conclusions, thinking about stupid things, about lies and untrue stories told to children to make them behave. Bedtime stories. Not real. 

 

Still, the uncertainty frightens me a little. Whatever it is that happened, will happen again. We just need to find out what it is, find the cause and solve the problem. We have to.

 

I jerk back when a hand clasps around my upper arm. Someone shakes me. I push him back. “What is wrong with you?!” I say, a bit louder than I wanted. Odarion's blue eyes pierce into mine.

I still don't know which eye-color I have.

“Are you alright?” His eyes search a face for something that would give him an answer.

I frown. “Yeah, I'm fine, why would you ask that?”

“I was worried for a minute there,” he replies. “You looked to be deep in thought, and I mean real deep.'My-brains-are-going-to-explode-any-second-now'-kind of deep in thought.” This guy needs help, serious help. One moment he's fed up, the next he's all worried about you. What is wrong with all these people?

“Well, I'm fine, my brains aren't going to explode anytime soon, at least I don't plan on letting them do that,” I say, my tone flat, “so don't worry.”

I reach for the pile of used napkins, grab them, get up and cross the hall. I hear a chair scrape over the grey floor. I don't turn around to see who it is. I don't care.

 

Half a minute later, I hear a light voice quietly ask, “Did you do that?” I swing around to face Aya, who takes the napkins from my hands and throws them into the trash bin. She leans on her hand on the wooden table, watching me, waiting for an answer. I frown again. “No, why would you think that?” She shrugs, averting my eyes. “I don't know, it just came to mind.” My eyes widen.

“It ´came to mind'?” I snort. “How could I have possibly have done that?” She shrugs again. “I don't know, you tell me,” she whispers when a man in black pours himself a cup of coffee. “Be careful though, if they ever find the one who is able to do this...” She slices her neck with her finger.

“Who do you mean with ´they'?” I ask. Her face changes from happy to serious immediately.

“Jargen and his people. He's dangerous, although it probably didn't look like that when you met him yesterday.”

I think about it, and decide she is right; he didn't come across as an awful man, at least not to me.

“How did you know I met him?”

Another shrug, this time with only one shoulder. “A little bird told me.”

 

 

Odarion gets up from his seat. “Erin, let's go, the tour isn't over yet.” I look outside, to see it already getting darker. “Oooh,” I gush, as an idea pops up in my mind, “can we go to The Fallen Bird at sunset? I kinda want to go there...”

Odarion eyes me suspiciously. “Who told you?” I fake an innocent expression. “No one.”

He frowns. “Did Aya tell you?” I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Did David?” There's a strange edge to his words this time. I must've imagined it.

“No-hoo.”

His frown deepens. “You didn't talk to anyone else, did you?” I shake my head again. “Nope.” I bite my lip. Oh yeah, I totally got this! “Please, Oliver, can we go there? Pretty please?”

David clears his throat from behind us, smirking. “Just say yes dude, you might get some tonight,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, a move Odarion copies, just for the sake of teasing me. “Alright then,” he agrees. I squeal and throw my arms around him–hey, if you don't want people to suspect anything, I might as well do a shot at pretending to be a couple with him, and that unfortunately includes doing couple-y things like embracing.

 

I suddenly regret ever waking up on that field.

 

 

The bubble is definitely the weirdest thing about the Camp. It covers the entire place, letting in the sun rays, though I have no idea what happens when it rains out here. The trampled grass is muddy after all, which is often caused by rain. I look up to the darkening sky, to see a few birds, twelve to be exact, fly through the bubble without taking notice. Before I can ask about them, Odarion pulls me by my hand with him. He walks on through the crowd that has gathered in the time I had been gazing the world above us, telling me to hurry up already. His words. We don't pass a lot of people in black this time; most of them wear a variety of colors, mostly blue, orange and green, sometimes yellow, purple or even pink or white. I croon my neck to look over the mass of bodies. Why is there no grey and no red?

 

Odarion pulls me closer to him, maybe to prevent losing each other. I let go of Odarion's hand. I don't want to hold his hand. I have to remember myself I don't like him.

“Where are we going?” I ask, having to raise my voice to be audible over the crowd's noise. We turn a corner, and I am swallowed in the mass of bodies. Letting go of Odarion's hand wasn't really my best idea. A girl with blue jeans, a white shirt and a red button-up shirt with rolled-up sleeves walks past us, accidentally brushing against me. I peek over my shoulder, watching her smiling face as she steps around the corner and disappears from my sights.

 

She wore red.

 

No one here wears red. Why did she?

Odarion sighs as he pulls me with him through the thick crowd. “Trying to escape, are we?” he says, his tone telling me he's not joking.

“Yeah.” I snort. I am joking. “That's exactly what I'm doing. Oh no. You saw me. All is lost now.” I make some dramatic movements with my hands to make him get the message.

He stares at me like I've grown another head, then smiles and laughs.

And my heart stopped.

Because my God.

His voice, his laugh is so se–and wow way to go girl, Erin! You do not like this guy. You will not like this guy, not now, not ever.

 

It is almost sunset, when we stand in front of a small hut, which is partly hidden by darkness, as it stands in the far most corner of the Camp. The front of the hut is small, as I already said. It looks as if it will collapse any minute now, the windows are broken, the dirty-white curtains are ripped and are waving in the wind, wind I can't feel. The walls are made out of wood, but they're rotten. It stinks. There is no light on inside, neither is there a street lamp on the outside. I wonder how Odarion finds his way around here in the dark.

There are only the occasional passer-by with us in here. Whereas the center is bubbly and full of life, here is no one. So why would we stop in front of this place? We have to go to the Fallen Bird, and quick, otherwise I'm too late. I want to know why that girl wanted to talk to me. What is she going to tell?

“You asked where we were going. This is it,” Odarion says, gesturing at the crumpling shack. I raise an eyebrow at that. “Is this the Fallen Bird?” I ask quietly, when we cross the road. Odarion nods, taking my hand in his. It is getting colder outside, and I welcome his warmth gladly–shorts are nice in the warmth of the day, but now it's getting chilly, I don't want to be cold all the time, so I reluctantly–yes, reluctantly–I snuggle closer to him. To an outsider, it would like we are still that cute couple.

 

And maybe it's for the best. I want to survive, and if this will make me, maybe I just have to bite the bullet.

 

Odarion knocks on the door, two times, four times and then once. The door opens and we step inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not steal my work without my permission. If you do, I WILL eat you.


End file.
